


Guardian Devil

by LadyMuzzMuzz



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dadgil week, Kid Nero, No Incest, No graphic descriptions though, Vergil knows about his son before DMC3, slight injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-23 17:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/pseuds/LadyMuzzMuzz
Summary: He may have failed at his duty of being a father, but let it not be said that a Son of Sparda failed in his duty to be a protector.
Relationships: Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & V (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 233





	Guardian Devil

Pain is something that Vergil has been used to all his life. Physical, from numerous battles with demons and humans. Emotional, from being abandoned by his mother, father, and even his own twin brother, from forcing himself to separate from the ones he cherishes most. And mental, always doubting his own abilities to protect himself, to always knowing he needs more power, and that it will never, ever, be enough.

None of which even remotely compares to the pain he's going through right now. Spikes of agony pierce through his chest, stopping any sort of healing. Tendrils of corruption tunnel through his mind, whispering about how weak he is, unable to even keep his beloved Yamato in one piece. And to his horror, they slither around, absorbing his memories. First of his mother, **SHE WAS WEAK, AS ALL HUMANS ARE**, then his father, ** SPARDA... HOW I DETEST YOU, IT WILL BE A PLEASURE TO BREAK YOUR SON'S WILL TO MY OWN. ** And then, Dante, **AH....YOUR TWIN STILL LIVES, HE WILL BE BROKEN, JUST AS YOU SHALL BE.**

Vergil feels dread. It's only a matter of time before Mundus will find out about Nero and his mother, the only two things in his cursed life he values above his own. Dante can handle himself from whatever the Demon King can throw at him, but his son is merely a newborn, and his love is merely a human.

He looks down at his limp arm, the hilt of Yamato still clutched tightly in his bloodstained hand. _Perhaps....._ Yamato is weapon of untold power, able to slice through anything, including, perhaps, his own soul. It's his only hope, and at worst, it will prevent the bastard from knowing about Nero, keeping his son safe, at least for a little bit longer. He may have failed at his duty of being a father, but let it not be said that a Son of Sparda failed in his duty to be a protector.

Agony screams through his limbs, as he takes the broken blade, and with a swiftness that surprises even himself, impales himself in the chest. The pain is far less than he feared, but much more than he hoped, as he forces the jagged edges further, past his muscles, through his ribs, and finally through his back. Very faintly, he feels something leaving him, something imperceptible to anyone except himself. Mundus, arrogant asshole he is, has no idea what he's doing (and to be fair, neither does Vergil... he's not killing himself, he's trying to carve...something? Already the memories have faded)

**ATTEMPTING TO ESCAPE LIKE A COWARD, ARE WE? YOU WILL NOT GET AWAY SO EASILY SON OF SPARDA, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU...**

Tendrils of pure darkness shoot out, ripping out the blade, causing Vergil to finally break and scream in pain. And before he can attempt to grab it back, inky ooze begins encasing him, leaving him so weak, so powerless..... so alone.

He wanders... he doesn't know how long he's done this, he doesn't know where he's going, hell, he doesn't even know why. He just knows he has to keep moving. He drifts slowly around the people in the market, even though he knows by now that no one can see him, touch him, or even sense him. He's gotten used to that fact that he can't talk to anyone, he's rather content with the solitude. The fact he hasn't been able to interact with objects on the other hand, can be rather annoying. Sure, he can go through walls, but he can't even read a book. (although he has stopped to watch over many a person's shoulder, reading the pages of books they read, in parks, cafes, in their own homes.) All he has to himself, aside from black clothes, is a brilliant silver cane, which he clings to like its his only reason for existing.

But no matter what happens, he feels a tug, a beacon always on the horizon, calling to him like a Siren calls the oarsmen of an ancient greek ship. He feels compelled to follow it, no matter where it leads. And now, after years of wandering, he's close, so, so close.  
Fortuna is where he has ended up. This island reeks of dark ancient secrets, where people worship a Divine Being named Sparda. The quaint corner shops open out to worn cobblestone, visited by hooded residents who follow strict codes of conduct, all under the watchful eye of the Order. It all seems so exotic, yet so familiar.

He comes over to a playground, seemingly deserted, except for a small boy, curled up in a ball. His clothes are worn and his shoulders shudder, causing his bone white hair to tremble. He already knows that the boy can't hear him, just like everyone else, but for once he really just wants to help.

“Are you alright?”

The boy's brilliant blue eyes shoot up to meet his own, causing him to stumble back in surprise, before falling on his backside. _He can see me...._

“What are you here for, gonna make fun of the weird kid just like the others?” The boy glares at him, and he notices the drying stream of blood coming from his left nostril.

“No...” his voice cracks from an eternity of disuse as he uses the cane to help himself up, “I....I just thought you looked hurt and I-”

“I'm FINE!” the child yells, “I don't need anyone! I'm not weak like they said, I'm not a piece of trash... I'm....I'm,” angry tears threaten to escape from the corners of his eyes. Using the back of his hand, he rubs the bridge of his nose. “Why do you care anyway? You're probably just like the rest of them, gotta kick the little guy down because he's a weirdo”

“No....I... I really want to help-”

“NERO!” A voice shouts from across the playground, and a hooded Matron walks over, with purpose. The boy (Nero.... the name seems pleasing in his mind) flinches unconsciously. V feels an umistakable urge to protect him, so he stands in front of the child, even knowing that's it's pointless. The woman literally walks through him, but doesn't harm the boy, merely kneeling, so she and him are at eye level.

“Did something happen between and you and Marco?” she says more gently than either of them expect. Nero nods, and she uses her apron to wipe the most of dried blood off his face.

“He and his friends were making fun of me, they told me nobody wanted to adopt me, that I was just a piece of garbage that no body wanted around” He takes a deep breath to keep himself from crying. “I just wanted them to shut up, so I punched Marco in the stomach. Then his buddies piled on top of me when he ran away, because he's a big, fat, stupid, chicken.” With that, the restraint he has dissolves, and he sobs in frustration. 

She sighs, and uses another part of her apron to wipe his tears. “I know you and Marco don't get along, but you can't keep getting into scraps like this. It gives you a bad reputation. You understand this, right?”

“Yes, Mother Julianna....” Nero responds glumly, and she grips his face gently.

“Now, I'm going to make some chocolate pudding. The only way that you and Marco are going to have some is if both of you apologise to each other, understood?”

The boy bites back a groan and agrees. The lady, seemingly satisfied, walks off, right through V, on her way to make the aforementioned pudding.

Only now does Nero seem to notice his strangeness. “She....she walked right through you? She didn't even see you!”

“Yes, I'm used to that..”

“But..how? Wait...are you one of those ghosts the Matrons use to scare us with, when we're bad? Are you going to haunt me and go ooooOOOOOOooooo?” Nero's voice is a comical squeaky moan.

“I'm not sure to be honest,” he admits. “I've been wandering for so long without anyone to talk to, but I don't... don't feel dead. I don't even feel like I ever died.”

“So, except for me, you're invisible?” the child asks, and he nods, “I wish I could be invisible. I'm tired of people glaring at me, whispering about me, making jokes about my mom and dad.” His tiny hands clench into fists, and his jaw tightens in anger.

“Your parents?”

“My mom died when I was just a baby,” Nero says, and for some unknown reason, V's heart clenches at that. “and my dad... my dad's never been around. He and mom never married so that makes me a,” he pauses, grimacing his face at the word he's about to say “a bastard. For the past seven years people have been mean, even the matrons. I'm tired of it, I just want to run away, but I know everyone will just treat me the same, no matter where I go.” the child collapses to the ground, unashamedly crying.

Using his cane, he slowly lets himself sit beside the sobbing boy. “I know I cannot help you fight, cannot stop the insults, but...” he shifts, trying to place a hand on his shoulder, only to his dismay, watch it pass through, useless.” I can be there for you, perhaps as a person to talk to when you need someone. After all,” he chuckles, “it's not like I can tell anyone what you say to me.”

Nero sniffles, “Really? You really mean it?”

He nods, and he feels like a puzzle, that while incomplete, has the outside frame constructed, something to build on.

“So... I'm Nero, what's your name?”

He thinks for a minute. To be fair, he's never thought about it. For all intents and purposes, he's never needed or wanted a name, and he can't seem to remember ever being given one. He's never thought about the reason of his existence. Is he ghost, a vengeful spirit? No, he decides, he's not that, he's not upset, and his purpose was simply to find Nero, and...stay with him? Nothing more than that. And yet, so much more than that.

“I'm.... I'm not sure,” he admits.

“Can I call you Casper? You know, the friendly ghost?”

That is totally unacceptable, he thinks, and closes his eyes. A name is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't recall what it is, but if he doesn't say something soon, he'll be saddled with that irritating moniker.

“My name..” he thinks very hard, it's not much, but it will have to do “my name is V.”

_Two years later...._

V watches as Nero grows from an angry young child, to a more settled, but still hot-headed minor. His attitude has mellowed a bit, and while he still hasn't been adopted, (and Nero has confided in him that he's certain that his chances of being adopted at his age have plummeted to zilch, since it's the cute babies that get snapped up first), he's been placed in temporary foster care with the Eléison family. He's settling well in there, with the older brother, Credo offering him martial combat lessons to give him an outlet for his anger. Mr. Eléison has been making sure he gets new clothes on the regular, and Mrs. Eléison makes sure that he's getting a decent amount of food in his body. V, while wishing they could take the next step, and adopting Nero formally, knows that due to Fortuna's strict social norms (and the restrictions of being a high status family), this is the most they can do.

The younger sister, a lovely young girl named Kyrie, has been helping Nero with his emotional side, trying to help him calm down when even the mock fights are not enough, or when Credo isn't available to spar. Nero loves to hear her practice her singing, a talent passed down from her mother. V secretly enjoys her singing as well, but he'll never admit that to Nero. It brings him feelings of a happier time, but he can't seem to recall what it was.

V helps Nero in his own way, giving him an ear to talk to when he's too frustrated, angry, or just plain embarrassed to talk to anyone else. He often helps him study for tests, not by giving him the answers, but asking questions on the topics he's preparing for. Nero's school scores have been rising steadily as a result, much to the surprise of the Matrons.

That's what they're doing at their usual spot, the deserted playground, when Vergil stops mid-question and clutches his chest, his other hand gripping his cane so hard his already pale skin turning even whiter at the knuckles.

“V,” Nero asks worriedly, placing his study book down in the grass. “You okay?”

He doesn't answer right away, unable to convey what he feels. He feels like he's been stabbed in the chest, but the pain feels...good? A relief? It's not even the pain that's the main problem, it's the fact that he feels.... lost. Like a boat who's anchor chain has been snapped, and now he's being tossed to and fro by the rising waves.

He finally manages to utter out an unsatisfactory answer. “I... I am not sure. I've never felt this before.”

“Are you hurt? Is there something I can do?” V chuckles softly, already knowing that due to his intangibility, there's nothing the boy can do to help him, even if there's anything to fix.

“Thank you Nero,” he give him a smile to reassure him, “but to be honest, all I need is time.”

“Well...” Nero scrunches up his brow, thinking hard, before his eyes light up, and he picks up a book out of his knapsack. “I gotta read this book for class,” V reads the cover, showing a happy family living in what seems to be a sophisticated tree house: _The Swiss Family Robinson. _ V gets a tiny memory, a mere sliver, that he had started reading that book before being interrupted by something, and has always longed to finish it, but never had the ability to.

“You wanna sit and listen to me read? I'll try not to screw up the words too much”

V smiles as he lowers himself back down to sit across from Nero, who proceeds to open the book, and begins to read, at first haltingly, but soon finds his pace.

“_For many days we had been tempest-tossed…the raging storm increased in fury until on the seventh day all hope was lost...”_

That night, Nero eats with the Eléisons, a delicious looking stir-fry that even makes V's mouth water. Credo, after asking permission from his parents, heads to the fridge to grab some more soy sauce, but pauses before he reaches the door handle.

“Kyrie,” he asks, pointing to a drawing, held on by magnets “did you draw that?” It's a drawing of a white haired boy, smiling brightly, wearing a baggy sweatshirt, and jeans, while holding a book, and accompanied by a thin, black clad child of approximately the same height, with dark hair, reaching to his shoulders. He's also smiling, and holds in his hand a cane, carefully coloured in with precious metallic silver crayon, the type all the kids fight over.

“Oh that's not mine!” she exclaims, “that's Nero's drawing! I let him use my crayon collection to draw it. Isn't it nice?” Credo's brows furrow.

“I can see Nero, but who's the other child, I've never seen him before”

Nero pipes up “That's my friend, V.” V beams at that description.

The elder brother smirks as he opens the fridge, and rummages through the top shelf “aren't you a bit old to have an imaginary friend there, Nero?”

Nero looks angry, and is about to let out retort, when Mrs. Eléison, ever the moderating voice in the household, interjects “Now, now, Credo. Nero is allowed to have whatever friends he wants. Besides,” she glances back at the drawing. “It seems like V is a good influence on you, Nero. I've seen your school reports and your reading comprehension has been improving dramatically this last school term.”

Nero's face bursts into smile, and he begins to tell his foster family about a tale of a shipwreck.

V tunes them out, his eyes locked on the picture. He wasn't there when the drawing was created, preferring to give Nero his space and privacy as much as possible. He's been exploring the island, watching people go about their day, learning their secrets and filing them away for future use. For Nero's sake, of course.

Even if he can't feel the picture, he places his hand on it, trying to imagine the feel of crumbly wax on paper. And as he does so, he glances at Nero, who for a brief second looks him straight in the eye, and smiles, causing V's heart (does he have one? Bah, it doesn't matter) to flutter in happiness.

_Seven years later...._

Things have changed drastically for the ever growing Nero. The hope of having the closest thing he's ever had to a family is shattered to pieces one bloody night. Despite the much boasted abilities of the Order, Mr. and Mrs. Eléison are dead, leaving both Credo and Kyrie in the same position as Nero. At least, they have each other, and Credo is old enough to be given guardianship of his sister. Siblings should never be separated, V thinks. It's just too cruel to do so.

Nero, who's used to loss, seems to take it better on the outside, offering a shoulder to cry on for Kyrie, and in a strange reversal of roles, spars with Credo to allow him to let out his grief and rage.

But V knows better. He's been with Nero when he's seemingly alone, when he lays on his cot in the dead of night, watching as his body slowly shudders at the loss at his friend's family. He's heard Nero muttering at how he needs to get stronger, then he won't let his friends suffer anymore. V sympathizes with him, but all he can do is lend an ear, be a sounding board to Nero's frustrations. And recently, his feelings are of a more...personal sort.

It's been two years since that night, and Kyrie has regained her soft confidence, and no longer needs Nero for support, but actually wants to spend time with him as more than a friend. To V, it's plainly obvious, she's a sixteen year old girl who's sweet on Nero, but the teenage boy is completely clueless. That's not to say Nero isn't feeling the same way, but he doesn't show it to her. It's getting aggravating, with the signals going over his scruffy white head. V needs to do something about it, before he loses his temper, and Nero loses his chance of a lifetime.

V and Nero no longer hang out at the playground. Their usual meeting spot nowadays is at the top of one of the storefronts, several floors up, in an out of the way of alcove among the antique masonry, with worn limestone gargoyles as the only witnesses to their conversations. Nero has become rather adept at the art of parkour, an emerging thrill sport that is all the rave on the Mainland, but is slow to pick up in ever conservative Fortuna. Besides, hoods aren't very conducive to climbing up the facades of buildings. V has an easier time of it, being an incorporeal spirit (that's what he's settled on describing himself), he just floats up.

“She likes blue roses,” V says out of the blue, one day as they relax against the rough rock. Nero almost chokes on the bubblegum he constantly chews.

“What?”

“Oh, and she enjoys chocolate oranges, the type that's all around during Christmas, especially the dark type, but regular milk chocolate is still her second favourite”  
“V...” Nero says, finally able to breathe on his own, lets go of the gargoyle he's been holding onto for support, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Kyrie, of course,” he says nonchalantly. “I've been following her when she's out and about on the town, she's also into satin ribbons for her hair, if you're on a budget.”

“Saviour's Mercy, V” Nero hisses loudly, “do you know how creepy you're sounding right now? You can't just follow her around like that, makes you look like a pervert,” he pauses and clarifies “if anyone could see you.”

“Rest assured, Nero” V answers, “I respect her privacy. I merely wish to help you court her.”

A sound that sounds like a fish gasping for air comes from Nero. “Court her? Hell, you sound like you're a hundred years old. And where the heck are you getting the idea that I want to cou-dammit date her?”

V lets out one of his very rare laughs “It's unmistakable, you can't look her in the eye, you blush the colour of a ripe tomato the moment she talks to you, and you rub your nose constantly while you're in her presence.”

Nero immediatly wilts. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, considering I've been by your side almost constantly for almost a decade, I've gotten to know your tics. So no, it's not _that_ obvious. But,” he cocks his head to the side, and gives a sympathetic smile. “I'm just surprised you haven't acted on your feelings. Strong as they are.”

Nero grumbles, “And what makes you think she'd be interested in a guy like me? She's from one of the highest ranking families in Fortuna, she could have the pick of any man she wanted, and me...” he throws his arms outward in display, “I'm just some some weirdo bastard with white hair that will never fit in on this damned island. She could do so much better”

V has always wished he could become tangible for many reasons, to read books, to clean up Nero's messy room, to write. But never so much as he wants to hold and hug his friend right now. Nero might think he's not worthy, but V knows better. He's brave, funny, loyal, charming with his friends, and utterly ruthless to his enemies. It's completely logical why Kyrie would be head over heels over him, as opposed to the countless boring suitors, each going _Saviour this, Saviour that...now make me a coffee dear...._ But how to explain to Nero, without sounded disingenuous? Nero can only take so many compliments before he thinks you're making fun of him, no matter how true they may be. Sometimes, words aren't what needed.

“Just trust me. As a friend. Just talk to her”

Nero looks down at his feet, shuffling from one to the other. He lets out a long drawn breath, and looks up back at V, “Blue roses, eh?”

“Yes, she was with some friends before the Sunday service when she mentioned it.”

Nero gives him a worried smile before leaping off the precipice, and begins to clamber down the side of the building. The last V sees of him that afternoon, he's entering the corner flower shop, attempting to act as confident as possible.

When V sees him later that night, he's got a brilliant smile that doesn't dim, even when he falls asleep. V wisely decides to keep his mouth shut, no need to put a damper on Nero's fortune by butting in and saying 'I told you so'.

_3 years later....._

V's worried about Nero. He's been avoiding everyone ever since the attack from Mitis Forest. On one level, V can understand it. Nero did all he could to prevent causalities, but due to being a lone soldier, he couldn't protect everyone. The young man hates when people get hurt on his watch, it makes him feel weak, even when he's not at fault.

Even worse, one of the injured was Kyrie. She insists she's fine, that it's merely a scratch, and V has no reason doubt her, but Nero has shut himself off from her, blaming himself for the reason she got hurt. It's breaking her heart, but she's kind, and understands he needs his space, and she'll wait however long it takes for him to heal.

Speaking of which, Nero is also injured from the attack, something V didn't expect. Nero has an uncanny ability to avoid harm, even in the most dire of battles, but perhaps his luck has worn off. His arm has been in a sling for over two months, which is getting suspicious. The few times he manages to talk to Nero, he's brushed off. Things are very wrong.

He finally finds out what the issue is, when disregarding his self imposed rules about not bothering Nero when he's out training. Following the beacon that is Nero's soul makes it easy to track him. Strange, he's not in the barracks, where he usually spars with Credo, or in the courtyard, when he wants to go solo. He's not in the Order's Headquarters, stuck on desk duty like most injured soldiers are forced to do. He's not even in the infirmary, where he goes to get his bandages changed (although V has noticed that Nero does the bandage changing himself, in the privacy of his quarters.)

No, the beacon leads him out of the city, into the Mitis Forest, in a clearing, away from prying eyes. Nero is focused on attacking a tree, who's poor trunk has been pitted and scarred by Red Queen. The tree hasn't just suffered the assault of gun and sword, it's been scratched by what can only be demon claws, sharp ones at that.

A flash of blue attracts his eye, and he can't help but gasp. Nero's apparently injured arm is out of its sling, and royal red scales cover it all, aside from cracks that pulse a bright blue, going down his arm like veins, before merging with brilliant blue claws. It's beautiful, terrifying, and demonic.

Nero hears his gasp, and whirls around, a snarl on his lips. “Great, the secret's out, I guess.”

“You DO know that I can't say anything to anyone, Nero.”

“Doesn't fucking matter. This thing” he throws out his arm, extending the claws to their full extent, like a demonic cat's paw, “is just the shit icing on the crap cake I am right now.”

“Nero...” V attempts to interrupt, but Nero is on an unstoppable ramble. “I'm a white haired bastard, who can't even get along with my squad, with a demonic claw in place of a hand, oh and...” he whirls around before stabbing Red Queen deep into the trunk, leaving it embedded enough to stick, “I've got an imaginary ghost friend that only I can see! Normal people don't have to deal with all this crap, V. The moment they find out about this, not even Credo's reputation will able to keep me in the Order. Hell, odds are I'll be exiled!” He ruffles his 'normal' hand through his hair.

Nero walks over to the abused trunk, and yanks out his weapon, causing splinters to fly out. “All my life, I've always wondered if I was different. I'm a lot stronger, faster, I can hear things that no body can. I thought, maybe... maybe it was the universe's way of saying 'sorry' for giving me a shitty hand in life, but.” He jams the sword down in the dirt. “What if I'm a demon?”

“Should it matter?” V asks

“Of course it fucking does! All the teachings say that demons are abominations that need to be dest-”

“Sparda was a demon”

“Yeah, but he sided with humanity, he's an exception”

“It seems,” V counters, “it's the actions that make him the exception. Same with you. You don't seek to destroy, you seek to protect. You don't want to rule, you want to serve. That's not something an 'abomination' like the Church says, would do.” V sighs “Okay, let's say that the worst case scenario is true, and you're a demon. What does that change? Nothing. The townsfolk are grateful for your service, Credo respects you, Kyrie loves you, and I...” he pauses “I value our friendship, no matter what you are. Regardless of what you think you are, you ARE a good person, one worthy of love.”

Nero stops, and stares at his glowing arm, flexing the claws once more. “You really think...”

“I _know_... and Kyrie will no love you, no matter what. Credo might take some time, but once he removes that stick out of his... he'll come around. Speaking of which....” V looks back to the the distant church steeple at the centre of Fortuna. Bells are ringing in a pleasant chime. “Looks like the Festival of the Blade is about to get underway”  
“Son of a.....” He grabs Red Queen, and starts sprinting towards to town “I promised Kyrie that I'd hear her sing.... she's gonna kill me.” As he runs, he rapidly re bandages his arm, before reapplying the sling.

V chuckles as he watches the teenag- no, young man run off. Sure, he's been given a difficult hand at the blackjack table of life, but Nero's has always been good at beating the odds. And V will be with him every step of the way.

******

To say that the Festival of the Blade was a fiasco is putting it mildly. Kyrie's singing was breathtaking, of course, and Nero even managed to give her that necklace he's been holding onto for the past few months. But then...... things went to shit, as Nero would so elegantly put it. His Holiness is dead, shot at point blank range by an assassin- no, an assassin would be someone who kills from the shadows, with precision, this scarlet clad buffoon had the audacity to smash through the ancient stained glass window and shoot him while he was giving a sermon, causing mass panic. And to top it all off, demons run rampant through Fortuna City, occupying the attentions of the majority of the Order. A perfect getaway for this so called assassin.

So now Nero, always good for solo missions, was tasked with tracking down this man, this.... Dante. V was hesitant to let Nero take on such a dangerous mission, but what could he do? He wasn't going to let the young man rush off on his own, even if he couldn't really help at all. Which is how he found himself trailing Nero down the corridors of Fortuna Castle, led on by reports of the killer heading in this direction.

“I've been here before, but I don't remember this portion of the castle,” Nero remarks as they pass through unfamiliar corridors. “Something feels wrong...” And of course, like clockwork, the demons show themselves, flying like spinning discs of death. Nero easily bats them away, like demon shaped paper mache pinatas. “This makes no sense, why would there be demons in Sparda's ancient fortress? We've sealed the damn hellgate, so you'd think that his reputation would be enough of a deterrent. And why would that douche bag Dante come here for? You'd think a smart guy would hitch a ride off the island, not head inland.”

V uses his cane to direct Nero's eyes, “No time for speculation, there's more coming down this way,” and another few scream down a corridor. As Nero slices and dices them into oblivion, V takes time to look around. The stones are covered in metallic pipes, quite out of place among the dignified stone. Steam spews out of them, making ominous hissing noises.

After dispatching them, they follow the pipes as they lead into a giant room. In front is a giant sheet of glass, and beyond.....a broken sword, hovering in a tube of blue light. V swears his cane vibrates as he points to it. “What is that?” It feels so familiar...

Perhaps he's mistaking the vibration in his cane with the audible hum that comes from Nero's demonic arm. That sword, broken and decrepit as it may look, seems to still hold immense power. Seeing as this is allegedly Sparda's former residence, could it be possible that it's one of his fabled weapons?

Unfortunately, neither of them get to check it out, because a scuttling cockroach of a man, surprisingly dressed in high ranking Order clothing comes into view beyond the glass.

“Well, what do we have here?” His voice is slightly distorted over the speaker system, “The snivelling brat Credo sent apparently got a bit farther than my calculations projected.” He taps on his notepad, then scribbles something. “No matter, I can always use more test subjects”

“Hey,” Nero says jovially, rubbing his nose, “You gotta name? Bit rude to just experiment on someone without an introduction”  
The scientist (although, to V, he's nothing more than an insect who wears a human hide) does an exaggerated bow, and introduces himself. “I am Agnus, head scientist of the Order”

_Agnus....Agnus...._Now where has V heard that name before. He goes through his mental rolodex, and remembers some of the washerwomen gossiping one late spring morning as they hung up laundry. A girl, an acquaintance of Nero's, had been dropped off at the orphanage after the untimely death of her mother. She was a bastard, but unlike Nero, these women knew exactly who the father was, a quickly rising senior member of the Order named Agnus, who wouldn't let an illegitimate child stain his path to glory. V didn't think he could like the man even less, a man who willingly abandons his child was despicable.

“So, you run this shithole of a lab? Makes sense, fits you you to a T” Nero jokes, and the man's facade cracks, his monocle nearly pops off.

“How DARE YOU! This laboratory is the reason Fotuna's days of glory are at hand! A shame you will not live to see it” And with a nigh imperceptible flick of his wrist, a signal is sent, and a flock of demons fly out, aiming straight at Nero.

The grace of the young man as he deflected each blow takes V's breath away. But the anger, the anger was still there. “Credo knows about this place?. He knows you're experimenting WITH demons? What the hell....” V's surprised as well. Credo has always been a faithful servant of the Church. To think he had something to do with this, or even knew about this....

V has no more time to think Nero manages to grab the last demon with his demonic arm, and flings it towards the glass pane, shattering it into crystalline shards. Agnus, coward he is, shrieks and tries to scuttle away, but Nero is quicker and stops him with Red Queen pointed at his throat.

“Okay, playtime is over, now it's time to talk, jackass.”

Agnus once over his fear, seems to ignore the death in front of him, and instead focusing on Nero's glowing arm. “Demonic power! How did you-”

“Answer my question, what the hell is going on here?” The lone soldier thrusts his sword further, but surprisingly, the blade is blocked by expensive leather gloves.

“You want answers?” He queries, with a devilish smile. “Then, I shall give them to you.” And out of no where, a speeding mass of metal flies, and impales Nero on the far wall. V is instantly at his side, trying in vain to remove the lance. His hands go right through it. Curse his intangibility!

“Aren't they marvellous?” Agnus says adoringly, as more of these metal constructs float down angelically. “It took years of research, and the harvesting of countless human and demon souls.” V recoils from these abominations. Something triggers a primordial reaction of disgust at them. “Of course, finding a reliable source of demons to acquire the souls was a bit of a bother, until we found this,” his hand sweeps toward the broken sword, still hovering in ethereal blue light. “a very powerful Devil Arm, capable, even its broken state to create gates to the Underworld, allowing us to funnel demons for summoning.” The monster looks almost regretful at it, “A shame we do not have all the shards to reforge it, imagine the rifts we could create, the demons we could summon!”

Nero, despite being in a catastrophic amount of pain, still has the strength to mouth off. “You're fucking insane, if his Holiness knew about this before he was killed...”

“Ah, but his Holiness has been reborn” Agnus crows, “and all he needs is more demonic power, which you,” he stares at Nero's arm, “you will be a valuable addition to my research”  
“Nero, you have to keep fighting! Don't let this man win!” V can't help him in the physical sense, so all he can do is keep Nero's raging spirit alight. _Nero can still fight...._

He's not sure if his words are having an effect on the young man, but Nero eyes reignite with fire. Spitting out a gob of blood soaked mucus at the man, he mutters defiantly “Go. To. Hell.” It hits a bullseye on Agnus's cheek, causing him to snarl.

“You.....should rest” Agnus says with a psychopathic grin, and the grasps the handle of the lance. V, knowing it's fruitless, nevertheless attempts to hit him with cane, trying to do something, anything to stop what is about happen. Nothing he can do can stop the inevitable, and he screams out Nero's name as the rat-bastard shoves the weapon even further into the young man's body. Nero lets out a gurgled cry, as Agnus walks away, instructing those monstrosities to take his friend away.

_Nonononononono!_

V starts babbling, for Nero's benefit or his own sanity, he does not know. He can't lose him, not now, not like this. All he wants to do is protect the boy. “Nero... you need to keep fighting, don't give up. Kyrie needs you, I need you.” Nero's eyes dim, his head slumps forward, lacking the strength to keep it up. V won't give up, not now, not ever. “Nero, you have a great power in you, more than anyone can understand. You need to use that power, now......please!”

Only now does V notice his cane vibrating, with an intensity that he's never felt before.

Suddenly, a blue flash, followed by a tremendous shockwave blasts everyone, aside from V across the laboratory. The Angelos disintegrate into nothing upon hitting the wall, and Agnus, goes flying back into the containment chamber. The blast should have killed him, but somehow, to V's surprise, the asshole has transformed himself into a demonic locust like insect. How fitting.

But that's not important. Nero stands, a bit shakily, walking towards the cowering bug. His eyes blood red, his steps, a bit staggered, he shambles forward. In his hand is not Red Queen, but a familiar sword, terrifying in it's beauty and deadliness....

_Yamato..._

V has no idea how he knows the name of that sword, but he is certain that's what it's called. But even the newly reforged sword isn't the most amazing thing. It's Nero. He is surrounded by a blue aura, and when V looks closely, he swears he can see a ghostly body slightly behind the young man, mimicking his moves.  
A tinny whine comes from the other side of the room “That's....impossible! How were you able to reforge it? Years of research couldn't even...”

He's cut off, by what V thinks is Nero's voice, but it sounds distorted, coming from the figure, not him. “_**Power....need more power...anything to protect her...**” _And he (clumsily, in V's honest opinion, but considering just a few moments ago he was impaled on a wall, he'll give him pass this time) swings the sword, launching yet another blade of blue energy towards to the scuttling demonic scientist. It barely misses him, and slices flaming hole into the ceiling, allowing Agnus to escape. Ah well... he can't have everything today. He has Nero, safe, relatively unharmed, and that's all that matters. Speaking of which, Nero has collapsed on his knees, breathing heavenly. The sword is gone, probably absorbed by his Devil Arm, as well as the ethereal figure.

“Nero,” he asks tenatively, “are you alright? For a moment...” he can't finish, he doesn't want to think about that horrific scene, just a few minutes ago.

“I think I'm alright,” Nero says, getting up slowly, still clutching his chest, half expecting that there's a gaping hole still there. He looks around, spying Red Queen lying on the floor, and grabs it, checking it for damage. Thankfully, Nero maintains his blade well, and the sword is still in working order, if a bit battered. “I need to get back to headquarters, Credo owes me some answers.” As both of them leave the totally destroyed room, Nero turns to his friend. “Thanks, V”

“Uh... for what?”

“For not giving up on me, even when I was about to give up on myself”

“Well, I couldn't just let you die, who else would I be able to annoy?”

Nero chuckles “Well, if you hadn't told me to use the Yamato, I'd still be an experimental shiskabob.”

V pauses, confused. He hadn't said anything of the sort. Ah well, no matter. It's not important right now, right now they have to figure how much the Church is involved in this whole demonic mess.

******

_Of course things could get worse._ V despairs, as he watches the 'Savior' lumber to life. Both Nero and Kyrie are trapped inside, with the former being used as some macabre version of a battery. V can only hope that both of them are unconscious, and not in any pain.

That's not to mention the fact that Credo, the young man his friend has always looked up to, is dead. It wasn't fair. The fact that monsters like Sanctus and Agnus walk around, alive and healthy, despite their despicable behaviour, while the misguided, yet ultimately honourable Credo was dissolving into ash. Should Nero get out of this (he will, V kicks himself for doubting his friend) he knows the young man will blame himself for Credo's fall, even if it is unwarranted. Nero and Credo might have had their differences, but they both respected each other greatly, and both of them loved Kyrie. At least, at the end, Credo had realized his error, and had asked for both his sister and her love to be saved. V says a silent prayer, to whoever is in charge of this fucked up world.

Which led to who Credo had asked. Dante. A couple days ago, had you asked V what he thought about the pompous crimson clad swordsman, he would have used words like 'overconfident', 'annoying', 'unintelligent', and 'totally untrustworthy'. Which is ironic, seeing as the only hope for the young couple, and Fortuna in general has now been placed in the hands of the guy responsible for the <strike>failed</strike> execution of Sanctus. Even though no one can hear him now, V holds back the groan as he watches Dante joking with his female companion. But, as he observes more closely, the facade of lighthearted banter is merely a mask for the man, and behind it, Dante is close to freaking out. Perhaps, V muses, Dante has worn that mask for so long, it's mistaken for part of his personality.

“So... we gotta get back to town, close those Hell Gates, save the kids, dismantle that hunk of junk, and kick Sanctus ass” he cracks his knuckles “Sounds like a piece of cake”

“It won't be easy,” the blonde lady says, hands on her hips. "The facsimile gates should pose no issue, but, the Hellgate in the centre of town.... that'll need something extremely powerful... something like the...”

“The Yamato” Dante finishes, eyebrows furrowed in an uncharacteristic frown. “Problem is, I have no clue where they put it? Odds are they took it back to the labs, probably figure out how to rip open some more damn hellgates. Son of bitch, I hate that place...” as he turns to walk back.

V clenches his fists, the idiot is going in the totally opposite direction of where he should. But then again, the man doesn't have the ability to sense the weapon like V can (not that V can explain why he senses it, its presence acting as a beacon that is only overpowered by Nero's slumbering soul). But there's no way to tell the devil hunter that the sword is in Fortuna proper. But V has never given up, he won't give up now, especially with Nero's and Kyrie's lives on the line. Every moment wasted is another moment their lives are at risk. He refuses to fail them. He closes his eyes, focusing all of his energy to somehow get to the man. Dante's aura is much like Nero's, thin enough to pierce, with enough effort, and so V throws all of his energy into it. He will not submit to the possibility of failure, not for Nero's sake.

“Dante!” he cries out, slamming his cane into the worn paving stones as a way of maintaining focus. For a brief moment, he feels the haze that separates himself from the living world rip open, if only for a moment, and only for this one man. It's all up to the swordsman to notice.

And to his great relief, Dante does, if the fact he turns around to face V's direction, and the blood drains out of his face. “What the..” he asks, slack jawed.

No time to engage in mindless banter, despite V desperately wanting to rip into him about how this whole situation is his fault, and that he better damn well clean it up, “The Yamato” he gasps out, this is taking a lot of energy to maintain the tear, “Fortuna's Opera Hall”. And like an elastic, the veil snaps shut, and the world feels like it's separated by a sheet of saran wrap. Now Dante's jaw is gently dangling somewhere near his knees, as he taps the woman's shoulder.

“You- you saw that right, Trish?” Despite her looking in the same direction, her face is blank. Her face, which looks so familiar, yet so different.  
“Saw what?” She cocks her head at Dante, with some concern on her face. “Are you alright? I know the past week has been tough on you, but you need to keep your head on your shoulders, for his sake.” She places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I'll evacuate civilians, you...” she smiles “you do what you do best”, and she saunters away. Dante, still looking at V's location, but not seeing him, mutters to himself, “Yeah... getting people killed... that's what I'm good at”. What he's speaking about, he does not elaborate, as he trudges toward Fortuna, resigned determination on his face. V follows silently, placing all his hopes in this one man.

******

Despite his early reservations, Dante proves to be much more adept at fighting than V had originally thought. Behind his showboat exterior lays a disciplined warrior, one who can kill demons with ease, and without the slightest bit of mercy. It reminds V painfully of Nero. And without a visible audience, the mask of jovial frivolity falls off, and he remains silent and focused at the task at hand, or at least until a somewhat intelligent demon makes an appearance, causing him to go right back to his usual joking self.

Three destroyed hellgates and countless bisected demons later, Dante arrives at the Opera House. And to V's unparalleled delight, Agnus is there. V isn't delighted to see the melodramatic bastard for his soliloquies though, he's delighted that Dante will stomp on him like the bug he is. It's barely considered a fight, it reminds V of a documentary where a cheetah mother brought a live baby gazelle for her cubs to play with, to learn from. Except Dante is no cub, but he's having the time of his life, flitting this way and that, quoting Shakespeare of all things. His personality of dumb muscle is also a facade, much like Fortuna's marble clad storefronts, pretty and ornamental on the outside, but underneath, hard and durable.

V lets himself enjoy the fight, (although he bristles when Dante refers to Yamato as being 'Rightfully His', it's not, it belongs to....Nero) but much like the countless stage productions this theatre has shown, the curtain must fall. And so it does, with a bang. V's only regret that it's not Nero who did the deed. Or himself.

He follows the man in red towards a dais, humming with demonic energy. Dante seems hesitant to grab the katana, which is impaled into it. But if he wishes to stop the demons, and destroy the hellgate, and save Nero, he needs the damn sword. V doesn't understand why he pauses.

Dante closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and yanks the sword out, like a flamboyant King Arthur. Immediately, the demonic energy subsides, and the crackle in air dissipates. But he doesn't move, breathe, or even open his eyes for a few moments. V is very confused.

After what seems an eternity, Dante comes back to life. “Hey there, long time no see, babe” he says softly, to the...sword? Alright, perhaps the man truly is insane. “No, sorry to disappoint” he chuckles, but there's no happiness in it “I'm not him”. A few moments pass, and Dante sighs “You miss him?” And for a brief second, he looks like he's about to cry, “Yeah....I miss him too.” Another pause, and Dante places the sword on his hip. “Alright, alright, okay, you're right, enough moping around, time to save the kids. Glad that you like him, by the way. He's a good kid... Say, after all this is done, you want to stay with him? You keep him safe, and he'll keep you safe, good deal, eh?” Unexpected softness from Dante, V thinks the man is full of surprises. And as Dante saunters off, whistling a jaunty tune, V swears that he's recognized him from somewhere else. Like his own name, it's there, tantalizingly close, but just out of reach.

“Hey, I gotta ask” the man asks “Did you lose some weight, sweetheart? No, I'm not being sarcastic, you feel a bit lighter.....” V has a mental picture of the sword's personality slapping Dante, and he chuckles. Perhaps everything will turn out alright.

_5 years later....._

_It's been a roller coaster of a half decade_, V thinks, as he relaxes in the garage of the cozy home. Nero's safe, Kyrie's safe, Fortuna's safe. Well, there's always a constant threat of demon attacks, as Agnus's experiments made the barrier between the human world and the underworld more porous, allowing minor demons to come through. On the other hand, that meant there was constant, easy jobs for Nero and his new business. He'd resigned his commission in the Order, not that there was much to resign to. The Order, once an overwhelming authority on the island, had in the past five years diminished to something akin to traffic police, thanks to reports that they were involved in the summoning of demons. And while he didn't have his steady soldier paycheque anymore, his new business is bringing in much more money than Nero could have ever made as a lowly foot soldier.

Speaking of which, Nero's business, officially known as a mobile branch of Devil May Cry, but for all intents and purposes, was his very own enterprise. A few months after the 'Savior Incident' (coined from the official report), Nero had gotten in touch with Dante, and floated the idea of starting his own demon hunting job, like a franchise. To both Nero and V's surprise, the older man enthusiastically agreed, and even gave Nero a (tacky, in V's personal opinion, but he kept it to himself) a custom built neon light Devil May Cry logo. And even though it might be tasteless, Nero's reaction of receiving it was almost as heartwarming as when Dante let him keep Yamato. Not too many people gave Nero things, and even though his reputation was slowly being rehabilitated with the destruction of the Saviour, generations of cultural oppression wasn't something that could be thrown off overnight. His dispatching of demons in a quick and efficient manner helped with his reputation, but it would be a gradual progress. Even after five years, the older Fortunites still muttered to themselves when they thought he was out of earshot, calling him “The Murderer of Sanctus”. But Nero, no longer the lonely seven year old curled up in the playground, paid them no mind. At least on the surface. There were still nights where his demon arm would pulse in anger as he would contemplate the most recent encounter with a particular bigoted old-timer.

That's when Kyrie came in. Her soothing presence was a balm to Nero's volcanic soul, and his confidence in her allowed her to be more outgoing, brought her out of her shell, especially after the death of Credo. They both mourned him, and without a body to bury, all they could do was inter his sword and uniform. Even after all these years, V sometimes catches Kyrie's eyes glisten as she looks up Credo's portrait, hung up with honour on the mantle.

Despite all of the troubles of the past, both Nero and Kyrie were closer than ever. Even with all of his fears, Kyrie was barely phased after the fall of the Saviour, and Nero confessed that he was probably a demon. “I love you for you, Nero. You're kind, brave, and loving, and I don't care” she had said, and had it not have ruined the moment, V would have chimed in with a “I told you so”.

So now, both of them had been living together, 'living in sin' as some of the more judgmental Matrons would say. Neither of them gave flying fig about the gossip, not even Nero. V was so proud of him. They had even taken the extra step and fostered three young boys, all of them orphans of the recent troubles, all needing stability, which the young couple give in abundance. Perhaps, in time, V mused to himself, there would be another addition to the family, as he watched the adoring looks the loving pair gave each other.

Perhaps the most out of left field thing that had happened was that girl, Agnus's bastard daughter, had joined his team. Although, having your father abandon you and your mother in pursuit of his own power would tend to sour your relationship with him, so it made sense that she didn't carry a grudge against Nero, or even Dante. And in turn, Nero didn't hold being skewered by a six foot lance against her. Sins of the father are not the sins of the son, or in this case, daughter.

That being said, she's got her father's scientific mind, although of the ethical sort. She's always looking for (non-living) demonic parts, to figure out how to make (non-souls powered) weapons to combat them. Also, as much as she would deny it, she's the main mechanic to the Minotaurus, although she gets compensated very well when Nero takes her on expeditions to the now abandoned Fortuna Castle for “That rat-bastard's research” as she so elegantly puts it.

So, between the job, the kids, Kyrie, and the expeditions, Nero barely has any alone time, where he and V can talk. He attempts to carve out some time each day, but V doesn't mind when it can be several days of radio silence. After all, Nero deserves this. Friends, family, a purpose in life. V's just glad he was there to support the young man, when it mattered.

“You know, I hate being your pet mechanic” Nico gripes as she rolls from under the van, grease stain on her nose.

Nero rolls his eyes in V's direction, he's heard the same whining countless times “Well, I can't head to Fortuna Castle when my rides not working, eh Nico?”  
She grumbles some uncouth words under her breath, as she attempts to wipe the grease off her hands on a stained cloth, which just spreads it further.

She grabs her pack of cigarettes and just as she's about light, Nero with his lighting quick reflexes, grabs it out her mouth with his glowing devil arm.

“What the hell, Nero? You can't be fucking serious... you NEVER get between a woman and her smokes” In response, Nero grabs her pack in the blink of an eye, and with a cheeky grin, absorbs them into his arm.

“You know the rules, Nico,” he says smugly “No smoking in the house”

“We're not in the fucking house!”

“I'm pretty sure the attached garage counts as part of the house, and besides, I got flammable shit here, Nico. Save your crazy stuff for your experiments.”

“Says the guy who just absorbed my fucking smokes into his arm, you gonna get cancer from that”

“As if smoking it wouldn't be worse”

“Hey, I'm not the one with the infinite storage arm thingie. You gotta let me check that out one day”

“Ahhh, that's a big fat no. No body messes with my arm.”

“Oh come on, think of the possibilities! We could quit this whole demon hunting business, and start up a storage depot!”

“Nico....”

“Well at least let me have my fuc-” she stops as the sound of Kyrie calls from inside, “Dinner's almost ready, you guys want to get washed up?”

Nico smirks evilly at Nero, and starts walking towards the door “Ah, looks like I need to clean off this grease,” she wiggles her fingers “guess you'll have to finish on the van all by your lonesome. Whadda shame, I'll try to save you some. Maybe. Probably not.” And with that, she practically dances her way into house, oblivious to the middle finger Nero gives her. After he's sure she's left, he pops the cigarettes out of his arm, placing them in an out of way shelf, out of reach of the kids.

“I'm still surprised you get along so well,” V muses out loud, and Nero laughs “You and me both, V, you and me both. He starts organizing his tools, before picking out a wrench.

The hairs on V's neck suddenly rise up, as if an summer's thunderstorm has suddenly arrived. He feels a presence, louder than Yamato, brighter than even Nero. No, not bright, harsh. His mouth goes dry and he looks around trying frantically to figure out what's causing it. It's coming from the half open garage door. The glare of the late afternoon son obscures the features, but V can make out a hooded figure.

Nero, the sweet young man he is, can't feel the overwhelming sense of danger that emanates from this shadow. “You looking for something to eat? Well, you're at the right place, Kyrie always makes too much, even with Nico's godawful appetite.”

V interjects, “Nero....I don't think he's here for food. I...I have a bad feeling about this...this thing.”

Nero steps back, taking a bit of defensive posture. His Devil arm pulses dark blue, in warning.

“What the...” he mutters as he looks back at the hooded shape. It also looks at his arm, and now V can feel his cane vibrating, making a low whine that echos the sound that the Yamato, still embedded in his arm. And despite the immediate danger, he feels frozen in place. Nero is also frozen, his Red Queen and Blue Rose not at hand, and unleashing the Yamato from his arm takes precious seconds that he can't afford. The stranger, breathing wheezily, seems unarmed, and unwilling to attack unless they know that they have the advantage. Their aura screams familiarity, although it's weak, and damaged, almost beyond repair. And V.... he remains in place, unwilling to upset this delicate balance. Any distraction to Nero could be disastrous. Something like a Mexican Standoff is occurring between the three of them, and that's when the balance is shifted by Kyrie's cheery voice coming from behind the closed door to the house “Nero, dinner's getting cold!”

The doorknob turns, and the young man panics, and turns to block the door, to keep his love, his family safe. “KYRIE GET BACK INSIDE!”

That's when the demon thing attacks, and grips his devil arm tightly. Within the span of a nanosecond, V realizes the awful truth. The creature is after Yamato, and is going to take it away in the most direct way it can.

He can't allow it, he WON'T allow it, and despite having almost two decades of being repeatedly reminded of how ineffectual his attacks are, runs towards the cloaked bastard and grabs his gloved covered hand.

_He grabs him. _

He can feel worn leather, and cracked skin under his palm. For the first time in his memory, he's able to touch someone. The sensation nearly overwhelms him, but he pushes it aside and maintaining his grip, pulls the hand away with all of his strength. Either he is a lot stronger than his thin arms give him credit for, or the creature is very weak (and it could be both), because it goes flying into the wall, causing the nearby shelves to fall over, including the one with Nico's cigarettes, which go flying as the shelf tips over and blocks the door. At least that way is safe.

Nero stumbles back, in shock. 'What the..' he breathes weakly, unleashing Yamato. He takes a step forward, ready to finish the demon off, but is stopped by V's cane, which whizzes out to block him at blinding speed.

“Stay your hand, Nero, I will... I will handle this” V says shakily, but with conviction. He's trembling because with the touch of a hand, he finally knows. The puzzle pieces, always jumbled and disorganized, have finally fallen into place. All the feelings, the faint memories, the drive to keep Nero safe, even the resonance with that imbecile Dante, make sense. Even his name comes back to him, but by now, it's not his, he's been V for too long. A part of him distantly mourns that this part of his life is over, but he knows that it's not really the end, it's just another chapter. His only fear is that Nero won't understand. But he's a strong young man, and V knows that he'll recover.

“How long has it been? How long have you suffered...._Vergil?_”

He strides with confident steps, as Vergil attempts to pick himself, before collapsing. His tattered hood has fallen off, revealing a man with swept back white hair, a strong jaw, and piercing grey eyes. In truth, he looks much like Dante, aside from the cracked skin, which is literally flaking off. He's in rough shape, and yet even in his extremely weakened state, he still struggles as V crouches down and straddles him.

“Power....need more Power” he says weakly, his voice hoarse, as if his vocal cords have been torn from years of screaming. Which, V muses darkly, is most likely the case. Whatever Mundus did to him must have been horrific. And yet, his will still isn't broken, as his eyes fly to the katana in Nero's hand, fruitlessly reaching his hand out to grab it. He remembers his sword, which is good, but can he remember anything else? If he can't...then he's no more than a crumbling corpse, one that needs to be put down. V selfishly hopes this is not the case, but if it is, he'll be the one to do the deed. Not Nero.

“Do you remember what you wanted the power for, Vergil?” he tenderly grips his crumbling cheek, forcing him to look at him, “Do you remember why you spent countless hours researching, do you remember why you raised the tower, why you fell into Hell? Do you remember why you stabbed yourself with your own sword? What was all that for? What was all that pursuit of power for?”

Vergil's eyes meet his, and after a few agonizing moments, understanding floods his face. “Needed power...to protect”

V beams at the progress. Despite the unspeakable horrors he can only imagine Vergil went through, he still remembers. He just needs a little nudge to be able to take the next step.

“And what” he asks gently, as the man stops his weak struggles. “what was it that you wanted to protect?”

Vergil blinks slowly, then slowly turns his head back to Nero's direction. But this time, he's not looking at the katana, but at the young man holding it. Nero's eyes are locked on his, frozen in place.

A small, weak smile grows on his cracked lips, “To protect him...my son... _Nero_”, his voice unexpectedly tender with the name. V can hear Nero's gasp, and he feels the Yamato clatter on the ground as he drops it in shock.

V smiles, ecstatic that the man remembers. Perhaps he didn't cut everything away... _Speaking of which..._ He grabs the cane, which is thrumming with anticipation. It's been a useful item, but much like V, it's time for it to go back where it belongs, to become whole again.

“I'm sorry,” he says with honest grief, “I wasn't there in time to save her, but I protected him, I kept him safe. He's a fine young man...” He raises the cane, the tip of it centred squarely on Vergil's sternum. “It's time for the pain to be over, Vergil...” and begins to bring it down.

Nero misreads the situation (and who can blame him, his imaginary friend is about to stab his dying father), and begins to run toward the both of them, to stop him. But the child is a few moments too late, and the cane pierces through Vergil frail chest as easily as it once did before. V's last thoughts are that it doesn't hurt as much this time.

Nero almost reaches his friend, almost stops him from killing the man, but he curses himself at being too slow as the cane plunges down. _V, why?_

Unexpectedly, a bright blue blast knocks him back, the shelves back, even the Minotaurus rocks dangerously from the force. As he pulls himself up, he checks his surroundings. The garage is a disaster, and it'll take forever to clean, but that's not important.

What's important is the figure lying in front of him. His...father? Nothing makes sense. And where the fuck is V? Not even his silver cane remains.

He slowly approaches the man, who stirs, eyes slowly blinking. He looks a lot healthier than before, the cracks that mapped his face are gone. His eyes are no longer sunken, although they look tired.

_His eyes...._

They're not the piercing grey as before, they have a greenish tint. They remind him of a raven haired young man who has been with him since he was curled up on a deserted playground.

“V?” he asks shakily, not quite understanding but getting there. V had called the man by his name, Vergil. And Vergil had called him his....son?

He slowly kneels down, while Vergil stiffly pulls himself up, until they are both at the same eye level. Gently, almost fearfully, Vergil raises his hand and gently strokes Nero's cheek with his thumb. Nero doesn't flinch, even though he still doesn't know what the fuck is going on. It feels so...so comforting.

“My...son,” the older man says, so quietly, as if he's terrified that Nero will crumble into a pile of ash at the slightest disturbance, “My... Nero”

“How...what just happened?” He's so confused. This man, his father is here, and apparently in much better shape than before, and V... V's gone? Had he sacrificed himself somehow? The ache in his heart at the loss of his closest friend hurts, and tears threaten to escape.

A soft chuckle, so familiar to him, comes from the man as his other hand raises up and opens, revealing a small shard of brilliantly polished metal, “The Yamato, even a tiny shard, has untold power, enough to split nearly anything, even...” he pauses as he presses the shard into Nero's hand “my own soul”

Nero looks at the delicate piece of metal, and realizes, that it resembles the shape of V's signature cane, only in miniature. It vibrates in his hand, and before he can stop it, it flies out, and with a small version of the previous explosion, merges with the elegant weapon. The katana glows with a ghostly blue aura for a few moments before fading. Nero is finally understanding. V isn't gone.... V was part of this man, his father, and now....now V's merged with him. It still makes no fucking sense, but in his heart, he truly understands.

The hand on his cheek trembles, bringing him out of his thoughts, and what he sees causes his breath to hitch up. His father has starting crying, no, full on weeping.  
“My son....I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry”, his tears flow profusely. Nero is confused once more. “I failed you, I abandoned you, all for some illusion of power” his shoulders shake as the weeping collapsed into sobs.

At that moment, Nero makes a decision, and pulls the man closer to his chest, earning a gasp from his father. He smells of ash, but also of the smell of plants, right as they poke out of the ground in early spring. He smells of regeneration.

“No, dad” the title feels strange on his tongue, but he knows that with time, it will feel as natural as breathing. “You're wrong.” He feels the man stiffen as he strokes his back “You didn't abandon me, you were with me the whole time, only in a different form. And now,” he pulls his father back so he can look him straight in the eye “I'm with you, and I'm never letting you go again”

As both father and son embrace again, Nero allows the tears that have been threatening to erupt to release, letting them soak into the shoulder of his father. His heart swells at the potential future that's ahead of them both.

  
Yamato is now whole.

His father is now whole.

And now, after so many years, Nero is too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My special thanks to Madartiste, who originally posted the prompt on Tumblr. (and if you want a top notch, heartwarming, funny, and angst ridden AU Dadgil check out their story [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820348/chapters/44659447) )
> 
> As for the conversation Dante has with Yamato, it's heavily inspired by this [comic](https://twitter.com/nella0315/status/1148297930337447937?s=20) on Twitter.
> 
> It's been forever since I played DMC4, so while I tried to follow canon as much as possible, there's probably some inconsistencies. Thanks for reading!


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